


Hiss Hiss Fall In Love

by CaptainLeBubbles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cold Open Companion Fic, M/M, a merry romp through history, and all the times aziraphale has appeared at crowley’s side, crowley thinks aziraphale’s depiction in the cold open was a bit unfair, so he’s gonna tell his version of the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 22:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: Being an account of how the Demon Crowley, Serpent of the Garden of Eden, fell in love with Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and a correction of the account of the same event timeline regarding the Principality Aziraphale, an extraordinarily biased account which left out all of Aziraphale’s best moments in a fit of misplaced humility.





	1. Hell, 4oo4 BC

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, while I don’t think it’s an _accurate_ read, fair’s fair: a very ungenerous person could read the cold open as painting Aziraphale in a sort of negative light, and when I thought about that in conjunction with the fact that we _open_ on Aziraphale and then only get one scene from Crowley pov (in the final vignette, and good someone that whole thing was just a nine + one, wasn’t it?), it made perfect sense to me to read it as an account from Aziraphale’s perspective, and given everything that’s just happened, he’s thinking along the lines that he’s been rather unfair to Crowley all these years and Crowley’s been so _patient_ with him, and so he ends up telling an account of their history in a way that paints himself as a coward and Crowley always needing to rush in and save him and Aziraphale leaving him hanging every time, etc.
> 
> As soon as I had that interpretation locked in, it was the work of moments to realize that Crowley would never allow that.
> 
> Also I wanted to use the title.
> 
> Each of these will parallel the vignette they’re meant to be a partner to, starting with a parallel of Aziraphale’s conversation with God.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawly is given a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for a little character-typical nastiness on Satan’s part.

Corporations were all the rage in Hell these days, at least the sort of corporations that they were using now- Beelzebub, who had previously occupied a swarm of flies, had adopted a body rather like that of the humans, and now the other demons were following their lead, though some had opted for puppet bodies controlled by a fragment of their corporation contained in a much smaller body like that of their chosen animal aspect. All of this, of course, was a bit of an experiment and would over time be honed, but the point was that when Crawly went Downstairs to let his superiors know that he’d gone and gotten the humans thrown out of the Garden, he actually didn’t know who anyone was and was left standing in the middle of a dark cavern watching torchlight flicker against damp walls while complete strangers milled around him.

He was finally- after a long, boring eternity of waiting- approached by a tall figure with long matted hair and skeletally thin, disproportionately long limbs, and a swarm of flies surrounding them.

“Lord Beelzebub?” he hazarded, and was rewarded with an affirmative buzz- corporeal language was also a brand new thing that everyone was getting used to, and Crawly was better at adapting than his fellow Fallen. Still, Beelzebub wasn’t the Prince of Hell for nothing, and their message came across loud and clear despite the lack of coherent language. “Right, I’ll just- yeah.”

He followed them through the many tunnels and passageways that made up the labyrinth of hell, past hundreds of wall paintings that flickered in the permanent low light and gave the impression of various monsters forming from the walls and ready to devour the onlooker whole- given that this _ was _ Hell, after all, this wasn’t such a farfetched idea.

Crawly was led, eventually, to the throne room, which was a surprise. More surprising was that it was actually occupied; their Lord was known to disappear for ages at a time and only drop in to do His job occasionally, but now here He was, lounging on His throne with an air of leisure that Crawly could only _ dream _ of achieving.

“You may go, Prince Beelzebub,” He said, once Crawly had been brought in.

“My Lord,” they murmured, bowing and slinking out, the cloud of flies buzzing after them, though Crawly didn’t miss that a few lingered at the edges of the doorway. Judging by Lucifer’s smirk, He didn’t miss that either, but He dismissed this and turned His full attention to Crawly.

“Crawly!” He held his arms wide, and patted the arm of His throne. “Come. Sit. Tell me about the Earth- tell me about the humans. I want to know everything- you got them thrown out of the Garden, I hear? Superb work, superb. I knew I chose well sending _ you _ up there.”

“Right,” Crawly muttered, slithering obediently up to take his seat on the arm of the throne as bid. He had to change his form briefly for it, but he was getting better at it, slipping from one to the other as fluidly as… whatever it is that moves fluidly between two states. Water? That didn’t sound right. It felt weird sitting here like this, like he was some sort of pet or particularly well-behaved child, but he sensed that if he was very careful, something good was about to come his way. “You liked my work, Lord?”

“It was a stroke of genius, darling! You exceeded my expectations tenfold!” He reached out one clawed hand and ran it along the edge of Crawly’s jaw, to his fiery ringlets, and hummed in amusement. “This is a nice corporation. Do you like wearing it?”

Unbidden in Crawly’s mind came the angel, the way he’d complimented Crawly’s choice on the wall when they’d discussed the bodies they’d been given, and a flush came to his cheeks before he could stop it- hmm, that wouldn’t do, he needed to get better at controlling this body’s habits.

“It’s… not bad. Pinches a little, but I think if I make a few adjustments- add a few extra vertebrae, make the hips a little less… hippish… it’ll do nicely. Why do you ask, my Lord?”

He winced instinctively, but felt none of the usual displeasure that came from Questioning- Lucifer had always _ encouraged _ his Questions, he was all right, he could _ ask, _ though there was no guarantee that he'd get an answer- but this time, Lucifer just chuckled and said, “Because I have a job for you, and you’ll need your corporation for it.”

For some reason the suggestion in Lucifer’s voice made his heart pound- he considered willing it away, and settled for concentrating on making sure it knew better than to do that. But this was it, he knew- whatever happened next was going to change the entire course of his life from here on out.

“I want you to stay on Earth,” Lucifer said, running a hand through Crawly’s ringlets again, twirling them around bony fingers. “I need someone to guide the humans in my name, and whoever I send up will need to be adaptable enough to follow their growth, and able to stay up there long term- you won’t get many chances to come home, after all.”

Crawly did his best to keep his reactions in check, and said, “I- I would be _ honored, _ Lord. This is- you’re trusting me with something so much bigger than me.”

“Yes.” Suddenly the fingers in his hair tangled and tightened, gripping tight. “But you aren’t going to disappoint me, are you, Crawly?”

“N-never, Lord,” Crawly hissed, trying to lean into a grip just this side of painful. “I’ll make you proud. You’ll sssee! You’ll have so many ssssouls you won’t even know what to do with them.”

“Good, good.” He let go of Crawly’s hair and Crawly slunk aside, coiling as best as his form would allow. The hand was back now, petting him again, and he tried not to flinch away. _ “Good. _ Now- tell me about the humans.”

-/-


	2. Mesopotamia, 4oo3 BC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has been protecting Crowley from day one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Aziraphale is Soft and that’s Good.  
Also me: But also I’m gay so Arms.

“Crawly?”

The call startled Crawly; he whipped around to look, and unbalanced, toppling out of the tree he’d been relaxing in with a shout. There was an odd shift in the air, the distinct feeling of a miracle being performed, and then a pair of strong, sturdy arms caught him before he could hit the ground.

_ Oh. _ Those were some strong arms. Nice and firm, though the chest he was now held against was soft, oh-so-soft, comfortable. He leaned closer on instinct, and then came to his senses and pulled away, still held in those lovely arms. He beamed.

“Hi, angel!” he chirped, and since the angel wasn’t making any move to put him down, he shifted form and wound around him, draping his coils around those wonderful arms and then the shoulders- which were also lovely- and rested his head by the angel’s neck. “Sssso, you got ssssent to Earth permanently toooo, ehhh?”

The angel made a surprised noise at finding himself with an armful of snake, but otherwise didn’t seem put out- he merely adjusted his hold so that Crawly could coil himself more comfortably.

“I did,” he said. “The Almighty seemed to think I was better put to service looking after the humans, guiding them in the ways of Her light. So- here I am.”

“You sssure are.” Crawly uncoiled himself enough to slither down, transforming so he was beside the angel once more. “Ssso. You’ve been ssent to lead the humanss down the path of rightessssness, and I’ve been ssent to lead them down the path that rockss.”

“It would seem that way.” He considered this, and then, “Wait, no- you’re leading them down the path to  _ wickedness, _ not rocks.”

Crawly grinned.  _ “That  _ rocks, angel. Not rocks themselves. I mean the fun path.”

“That’s even less accurate!” He looked a bit put-upon, which was adorable and distracting and Crawly didn’t like it, and then said, “Well… what have I missed, then?”

“Not a lot. The humans have been figuring out shelter and food and all that necessssity stuff. She gave birth to two ‘sons’ and she’s already expecting again. They’re really taking that be fruitful and multiply thing to heart, it seems.”

“Well, that’s lovely. I can guide the children in learning to do right as they grow- start them young. I suppose you’ll be teaching them to do wrong?”

“Course.”

“Then that makes us opposed,” the angel said, as if they weren’t already by their very nature. “Adversaries, with a capital Ad, even.”

“Sure.”

“Then probably we shouldn’t be talking to each other like this,” he said, and almost seemed to be pouting.

Crawly cracked a grin. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s not much Adversing to be done right now- the little ones can’t even sit up on their own properly and we’ve cocked things up enough for the first two, no need to put any more work into  _ them. _ Let’s just give it a few years for them to start populating a bit more, take the time to get the lay of the land- what do you say, angel?”

“We-ell…” He took a few minutes to consider it, but Crawly knew he already had him. “I suppose… that is, if you’re not doing any  _ wiling, _ there isn’t anything for me to  _ thwart, _ or the other way around.”

“There you go! Let’s just take it easy for a bit, see what the humans get up to on their own before we go mucking about. There’ll be plenty of time to be Adversaries once things really get going.”

-/-


	3. Nineveh, 4th Century BC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon enjoy a city that hasn’t been turned to ash for a change.

On the roof of a non-descript building, an angel and a demon sat sipping wine and watching as a city spectacularly failed to be leveled into a smouldering pile of rubble. It was a wonderful sight: a city, still standing, still holding together, people going about their lives with the only real difference being that they were making more effort toward goodness.

Somewhere in their field of vision, a pair of playing children barrelled into an elderly woman, and, rather than run off, they stopped and helped her to her feet, taking a moment to ensure her well-being before hurrying off on their play. The woman, for her part, made an aborted motion as though she meant to shout at them, and then changed her mind— it was clearly a struggle, but she was  _ trying, _ which was the part that mattered.

“You see?” The angel said, passing the jug of wine to his companion. “They were shown the error of their ways, and repented, and now their city remains standing. Not  _ every _ city gets leveled in the end.”

“Maybe,” the demon said darkly. “But it was a narrow miss. What if they hadn’t repented? Splat, and  _ you know it. _ It’s no good saying ‘oh the Almighty is being more forgiving these days’ when the truth of it is that all that’s changed is people are being given a  _ chance.” _

“But the fact that they  _ are _ being given a chance is a very big part of it,” the angel protested. “And if the Almighty can change, then clearly people are capable of it as well- maybe even angels and demons.”

This last part was said rather hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it, and sure enough, the demon took the jug back with a derisive snort.

“You got something to say, angel?”

“I merely wonder if we really are as unchanging as we’ve been told. Perhaps- perhaps the Almighty is trying to set an example for us, the same way the seventh day was meant to set an example for the humans. God’s way of saying ‘I can change, so it’s okay if you do too’.”

“Sounds like blasphemy if you ask me,” the demon said. “That’s my job.”

“Not blasphemy at all. I’m merely trying to understand what I should do to maintain my part in the Great Plan, as I’ve got oodles of free time and would best like to use it in service of the Lord.”

“Rationalize away, angel.”

The angel gave him a huffy look at that, and then smiled. “What would you say to lunch? Give me a chance to see how the Ninevites are getting on up-close, and I’m sure you’re here to see if you can  _ tempt _ them back onto the path of wickedness.”

The demon shrugged and stood and said, “Yeah, all right. Be nice to hang out in Nineveh without getting slapped by fishes all the time.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Theo did you just make a Veggie Tales reference” you can prove _nothing_


	4. Rome, 41 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oyster date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Let me tempt you/that’s your job” was a pickup line you can’t change my mind.

“What did you think of the oysters?” Aziraphale asked, as the pair left Petronius’s and rejoined the crowds in the streets.

“Not sure I liked them,” Crowley admitted. “They’re a bit… slimy.”

“I suppose they are an acquired taste.”

“Shouldn’t they taste good to begin with?”

Crowley wasn’t expecting the little giggle that he got out of the angel at that line: a puff of laughter before he met Crowley’s eye with a fondness Crowley was entirely surprised to see there.

The angel was  _ drunk, _ he realized.

“I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley repressed a remark about how dangerous that was, angels thinking. He wanted to see where this was going- also, he privately felt it was more dangerous that angels  _ didn’t _ seem to think.

“I’ve been thinking,” he repeated, “what’s the point of all of this?”

“You’re the one that invited me out, angel, you tell me.”

“Oh, I don’t mean  _ that. _ The point of  _ that _ was enjoying your company. I just mean… you, and me, on earth. Is it really- I mean, are we really meant to be guiding  _ all _ of humanity?”

“That’s a dangerous line of thinking,” Crowley said, hooking a hand under Aziraphale’s elbow as he stumbled slightly. “Specially for an angel.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, sagging a little. “But I’ve just been wondering, is all. There are so  _ many _ people now. And they’re so spread out. And I’m just one angel and you’re just one demon. How are we meant to be guiding  _ all _ of them?”

“Oh I see, you’re just questioning your qualifications, not the job itself.”

“Yes? What did you think I meant?”

“I thought you might be- you know.” He flapped his hand dismissively. “Questioning.”

There was a part of him that was a little disappointed. He sort of  _ wanted _ the angel to Question, to look around and see all of heaven’s hypocrisy and demand justice, but on the other hand… he knew very well what Questioning led to, and he didn’t want this angel to experience that. He was far too soft to be Fallen.

“No. Oh  _ no. _ I mean…” There was a slight change in the pressure in the air, the subtle feeling of a miracle, and Crowley knew without asking that Aziraphale was sober now. “No. I wouldn’t Question the Almighty, or the Plan. If She wants me down here, obviously She thinks I am qualified. I just wonder exactly  _ how _ I’m meant to go about guiding  _ all _ of humanity.”

“Don’t think you need to, really,” Crowley said. “They seem to do a pretty good job on their own.”

“They seem to get up to evil really well on their own too,” Aziraphale pointed out. “So obviously I’m not doing enough.”

“I dunno, angel,” Crowley finally shrugged. “Maybe we’re overthinking things. Maybe it’s just enough to be here.”

“You think so?”

“Honestly? I think when it comes down to it, I’d rather spend my time eating oysters than worrying about whether I’m doing my part or not.”

“I wouldn’t  _ exactly _ say the same,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley heard the unspoken  _ ‘out loud’ _ riding on the tail of it, “but it was a rather nice way to spend an evening.”

“Do it again sometime? It’ll be my turn to tempt you next time.”

Aziraphale looked scandalized at the thought, and they’d reached his domus anyway, so they parted ways, but Crowley didn’t miss the nervous smile he wore as Crowley left him in his doorway, or the way he peeked over his shoulder one last time before going inside.

-/-


	5. Nottingham, Twelfth Century AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a bit of a scare in Sherwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bastard spotted.

The Arrangement was nearly a century old before they got their first scare. They were both in Nottinghamshire, both doing their work on a young highwayman called Robin— hell was very keen on Robin’s tendency to rob from the rich, while heaven had Aziraphale encouraging his giving to the poor habits. Both of them had been surprised to learn that they were working on the same target- heaven and hell rarely crossed their wires like this- but as Crowley had pointed out, it was because their respective head offices  _ didn’t care. _ And were thus not paying enough attention.

They were sitting together in one of the many trees of Sherwood Forest, Aziraphale managing to make it seem like he was seated at a high table rather than a tree branch, while Crowley was draped over his own branch like a very content serpent.

And then Aziraphale sensed a change in the air and whispered, “Very sorry about this, my dear,” before reaching over with one foot and kicking Crowley from his perch.

There was a crash down below, and muffled swearing, but Aziraphale ignored that in favor of saying, a little louder than necessary for Crowley’s benefit, “Gabriel! What a surprise!”

“Hi,” Gabriel said, giving him that  _ look _ he always did, like he didn’t really want to be here. He blinked, and looked around. “What smells evil?”

For a brief flash, Aziraphale panicked, and then felt sudden clarity as the answer presented itself. “That would be the demon Crowley,” he said. “He’s been sniffing around here lately, trying to encourage the outlaws to be more, you know,  _ outlawish.” _ He sniffed disdainfully. “He’s been keeping me on my toes, that’s for sure.”

“Right, of course.” Gabriel beamed, and punched Aziraphale on the shoulder. “But I bet you take care of him in the end, eh?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale echoed, rubbing his shoulder. “He doesn’t tempt anyone that I don’t know about it beforehand.” [1]

“Good, good. Great.” His smile didn’t falter, and he didn’t add anything else. Aziraphale wondered if he meant to stay, and wished he would leave, so he could go check on Crowley and make sure he was unhurt.

“Was there something else you wanted?” he asked politely, after a long, awkward silence.

“No, no, nothing, just. You are  _ okay _ down here, right? It’s just…” He reached over and laid a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his tone and expression dropping to something gentler. “You’re the only agent we’ve been able to keep on earth longterm. Everyone else- well- you know how that usually goes. I’m worried.  _ Are _ you doing okay?”

Oh. How touching. Aziraphale gave him a weak smile, straining to hear any indication of Crowley’s whereabouts. “I assure you, I’m doing quite well. I think I must have been made for this job- I keep waiting for the things I’ve heard about happening, and they never do. Perhaps She always intended me to be here.”

“Well, She is the one who chose you for the assignment. Maybe you’re right. Not that we could ever really Know, right?” Another punch. Aziraphale’s smile became a little more fixed.

“Right. Not our place. It’s all… Ineffable.”

Gabriel left not long after that, but not before subjecting Aziraphale to some more awkward conversation. No sooner had he left than Aziraphale was hurrying down the tree to the ground, where Crowley had shifted into snake form and was sulking in the undergrowth.

“There you are,” Aziraphale breathed. “Are you hurt, dear boy?”

Crowley shook his head, then sulked deeper into his coils and stuck his tongue out.

“I know. I’m very sorry. I didn’t have time to warn you properly.”

Crowley seemed to accept his apology, because he slithered over and up, up, up until he was draped around Aziraphale’s shoulders. He stuck his tongue out again, and nuzzled his snoot against Aziraphale’s jaw in a show of affection that would never be allowed when he was man-shaped. Aziraphale smiled.

“We’ll have to be more careful in future,” he said, adjusting Crowley’s coils and heading back in the direction of Robin’s camp.

One thing had come out of it, though- they both knew, now, that the Arrangement  _ could _ work, even when their head offices did check in.

-/-

[1- Which is entirely correct.]


	6. Venice, 1348

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale isn’t the only one who knows how to get what he wants from his Adversary.

Crowley didn’t have healing hands, at least, not very good ones. He wasn’t gentle, and he couldn’t ease pain. Even after centuries of doing blessings for Aziraphale as part of the Arrangement, he never quite got the hang of being heavenly about- well, being Aziraphale about it.

He could cause sleep, though, and sleep could do all of the things he couldn’t. He snapped his fingers, putting the woman to sleep- young, not one and twenty, and she never would be, thanks to the plague. But at least, for the next several hours, she would be away from all of the suffering. It was the best he could do.

The Plague wasn’t a hellish contribution to earth. Nor, according to Aziraphale, was it heavenly. It was just a thing that happened. One of those things no one could have caused on purpose, unless the Almighty was just punishing people willy-nilly without even dishing out warnings now.

Crowley wouldn’t put it past her. It wasn’t like they were warned about hell before the Rebellion.

Still. This didn’t really have the touch of supernatural forces.

“Heaven is pleased all the same,” Aziraphale said, using that tone he usually reserved for when he didn’t want to say what he felt about heaven being happy about something. “People are repenting their sins left and right, convinced this is their punishment for wickedness.”

“Hell are in the same boat,” Crowley said, scuffing his foot irritably on a stretch of the streets. “People blaspheming over the Almighty abandoning them to suffer, turning their back on a God who they feel has already turned Her back on them.”

He sneered, and tried to keep his words in check. He didn’t want to argue with Aziraphale just now, but to his surprise, Aziraphale didn’t offer one of his usual rebuttals. Crowley glanced over at him.

“Been busy?”

“Yes. I can’t really do anything to stop the spread or to save them, but I can at least ease their passing.” He sighed. “I wish there was more I could do.”

“Can’t do everything.”

“It just feels… wrong. To take satisfaction in it. I know the lower you start the higher you go, but this just seems excessive.”

“Testing them to destruction,” Crowley murmured, and shook his head. “Come on, let me take you to lunch. Somewhere they’ve never even heard of the Plague- I’ve got friends over in Australia, do you good to get out of Europe for a few hours.” And added, when Aziraphale hesitated, “you’re not abandoning them. Even you need rest.”

“I don’t, though. And  _ they _ don’t have the option of leaving.”

“Angel,” Crowley said exasperated. “Come  _ on. _ Your body might not need rest but your spirit does.” He adopted a pleading expression. It wasn’t like Aziraphale’s moon-eyes, batting his eyelids like he was completely helpless so that Crowley would spring to his rescue, but it had a pretty effective success rate all the same, especially because Crowley had to compensate for his dark glasses by pleading with his entire body. “Don’t make me go to Australia on my own.”

Aziraphale sighed, managing to look as though he was doing Crowley a favor, and said, “All right. Just for a few hours.”

He held out his hand, and Crowley took it. In an instant the pair had vanished in a flash of light and unlight, leaving behind nothing but the scent of cinnamon and sulphur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have even a vague idea of both book canon and European history, you should be able to guess what the next chapter will be about.


	7. Castile, 1492

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the thing Crowley needs protecting from is himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as "Sad Crowley In Spain", per that one commenter.

How long had Crowley been drinking? He wasn’t entirely sure.

He cracked his eyes open, trying to peer through his drunken haze at the light, trying to discern how it had changed since he started drinking, but he couldn’t really remember what it had been doing when he’d stumbled into the cantina to demand as much wine as one body could hold or even if it was the same day as all that started. He could, for all he knew, have been here for days. Weeks. Months? Probably not, hell would have sent him orders since then, new temptations, new wiles, new jobs, Spain didn’t need any help, nope, they had it all under control and he would be sent somewhere else, somewhere else he could tempt the humans to steal or lie or cheat or hurt, and still never even get close to anything they were able to do themselves.

The light was doing weird things. It had been rather dark in the cantina when he’d managed to open his eyes, but now it was bright but like, not bright all over, the brightness was kind of concentrated to one source, and it was moving, and coming toward him, and no one else seemed to think it at all odd that there was a moving light in this dark room and- ah. Oh.

“Hi angel!” he said, tripping over his tongue and his words as he grinned entirely too wide at his Adversary (capital Ad). He grabbed a wine bottle and held it out to him in offering. “Here, have some wine! Sss’on me!”

“It certainly is,” Aziraphale said, taking the bottle and setting it aside before taking Crowley’s hand instead. “Come along, my dear.”

“Wheh- wirr- _ where’rere _ we goin?”

“I’ve rented a room, I’m taking you there.”

“Ohhhh, _ angel, _ buy m- buy me dinner firsssst.” He leaned closer in what he was sure was a seductive way and rested his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder. It would be very sexy if he hadn’t stumbled and nearly fallen facefirst to the floor, but Aziraphale’s strong lovely wonderful arm was around him and held him up while he tried to remember how to have legs.

“None of that, now,” Aziraphale chided, and Crowley grinned, turning to rest his chin on his angel’s shoulder again.

“Ss’doess that mean later insstead?” he asked, trying to sway his hips while Aziraphale walked them painstakingly slowly out of the bar and up the stairs. It was going poorly. Why did he have legs? Legs were too complicated, he should get rid of them and just use a tail instead. He could bounce around like a coiled up spring like he used to do before the whole ‘crawling on his belly’ thing. Was he still allowed to do that? He thought maybe he wasn’t.

“I think you may be confusing human accounts with your actual memories,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley realized he must have said all of that aloud. He wondered what else he’d said aloud.

“Whyre you _ here?” _ he asked, instead.

“I received a rather disturbing message from Above and decided to look in and see for myself.”

“Oh right!” Crowley grinned again, mouth stretched far too wide, and fished around in his clothes with the hand that wasn’t draped around Aziraphale’s shoulder. He found the paper he was looking for eventually and waved it around in Aziraphale’s face. “Look, angel! I got a co- comdema- cod- well done note!”

“Yes, that was about the gist of what I was told.” 

They’d reached a door and Aziraphale propped Crowley up against the wall while he fiddled with opening it. Without Aziraphale to hold onto, Crowley didn’t stop himself from sinking down to the floor instead, legs splayed out in front of him. He wiggled one foot and watched it, fascinated by the movement- feet were _ weird, _ why couldn’t humans just have tails like sensible people?

“Come along, my dear, let’s get you into bed.” Aziraphale reached down to pull Crowley up again, but Crowley wasn’t interested in getting up so Aziraphale just ended up with Crowley draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Crowley stared down from his perch, and decided he liked Aziraphale from this angle.

“I like you from thisss angle,” he said, and was dropped onto the bed perhaps harder than necessary.

Aziraphale sat beside him while he slithered into the blankets, somehow ending up with his head down the wrong end of the bed. Aziraphale adjusted the blanket for him and moved the pillow down to tuck under his head.

“Why don’t you sober up?” he said. “You’ll feel terrible when you wake if you don’t.”

“Feel terrible if I do,” Crowley mumbled into the pillow.

He could feel a tension in the air after he said it, and then Aziraphale’s hand was on his shoulder, warm and reassuring.

“Would you like me to stay with you awhile?”

Crowley nodded into the pillow, and the heavy hand on his shoulder began to move, rubbing soothing circles into his back. He closed his eyes and let his breathing even out, sobering up slowly while he let himself drift off to sleep.

“Rest, beloved,” Aziraphale murmured, so quietly that Crowley wondered if he’d heard correctly, "and wake having dreamt of whatever you like best.”

-/-


	8. Venice, 1513

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a beautiful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves the premise that Aziraphale and Crowley both are able to sense each other’s presence in order to find one another, as well as keep each other at least somewhat updated on their movements. (Ie, Aziraphale knew Crowley was in Venice, and went to find him once he was in the area.)

Crowley was feeling good. He’d just woken up from a good long nap (three weeks of sheer, unbridled blissful sleep, wonderful) and upon waking went off to put himself around a few glasses of wine, and while he was drinking he’d met Leonardo Da Vinci, his current favorite human to tempt, and they’d had a nice lunch together and he’d even convinced Leo to sell him the doodle for the Mona Lisa, signed and everything.

He was admiring it when he felt a change in the aura of the room- everything felt warmer and more pleasant and he felt the strangest urge to go donate some money to an orphanage. A grin split his face, but he suppressed it almost immediately, and turned slowly in his chair, slouching and smirking at the approaching angel.

“Hi, Aziraphale,” he said. “Didn’t know you were in Venice.”

“I’ve only just arrived a few days ago,” Aziraphale said, taking a seat beside him. “I checked in on you- have a nice nap?”

“Excellent, best one so far. Buy you lunch? You can tell me what I’ve missed.”

He’d already eaten, actually, so he ended up drinking more wine while Aziraphale ate, telling him all about everything he’d been up to since their last meeting nearly two years ago, Crowley with his chin in his hand and gazing at him with open adoration.

He felt he should probably do more to look a little less like a lovesick fool, but Aziraphale never seemed to notice, and it was so nice here, baking in the hot Italian sun with his angel beside him and his newest treasure- oh, speaking of!

“Look what I got, angel,” he said, showing off his recent purchase. “What do you think?”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley preened proudly over the approval of his art choice before starting in on his comparison to the (in his opinion, inferior) final product.

While Crowley nattered on, a part of him became aware of what a perfect moment this was: the sun, bright and warm, enveloped them both so completely that Aziraphale was almost glowing with it, eyes soft and expression softer. It was such a perfect moment; he wanted to tie it up with a bow and tuck it away inside of him and cling to it forever— let it draw out into infinity. Hang Armageddon: all he wanted was this, him and his angel drinking wine in the Venetian sunshine.

Across from him, an odd thing happened. Aziraphale’s eyes widened marginally, his smile faltered. He straightened, pulling away from Crowley a bit, and looked around, suddenly fearful. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth, and Crowley’s speech faltered.

“...angel?”

“It’s fine, dear,” Aziraphale said weakly. “I thought I felt- but it’s nothing.” He dabbed at his lips with his napkin, and pushed his chair away. “Terribly sorry, but I must be on my way. I have blessings to attend to, can’t dawdle my time away forever.”

“Aziraphale-“

“Thank you for lunch, Crowley,” he said, and made as if to reach out before thinking better of it. “I’ll see you- well, around, I suppose.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Okay.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale leave, and felt like a part of him was being yanked away with him: he looked up at the sky once Aziraphale was gone, and suddenly the sun seemed too hot, too bright, too much. He stood and bundled his prize away, heading back to his rooms with a dark cloud in his thoughts being swiftly reflected in the one forming overhead, thoroughly dampening the day of everyone else in Venice too.

-/-


	9. London, 182o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was some confusion from a few commenters over the last chapter: for clarification, Crowley felt his love for Aziraphale so strongly that it spiked enough for Aziraphale to catch it, and he panicked because if _he_ could notice it, who else could? This fic is "Aziraphale protecting Crowley through the ages" but not all of his methods will appear so on the surface.

Aziraphale let himself into the little flat after knocking and waiting twice, just in case Crowley was awake to let him in himself.

It appeared that he wasn’t. Aziraphale slipped through the little flat, clearing away gathering dust and watering the flowers in the windowbox before finally going through to the demon’s bedchambers, where he still lay in the same place Aziraphale had left him: curled up in a cocoon of blankets in the middle of a frankly decadent bed, sleeping away the decades.

Nineteen years. Crowley had told Aziraphale he was itching for ‘a good long nap’ and now it was nineteen years later and he hadn’t woken up yet.

There were a pile of papers on the bedside table, all with the slightly sulfurous smell of a missive from Hell on them. Aziraphale settled down at the edge of Crowley’s bed and reached for the pile, ignoring the now-familiar sounds of Crowley shuffling nearer him in his sleep. The first time, he’d assumed it was because Crowley was waking; he understood now that Crowley was just attracted to the nearest source of heat.

Crowley tucked himself into Aziraphale’s side while Aziraphale read the messages. A few more commendations- most of them for things humans had got up to, but one for a temptation Aziraphale had done for him. Apparently he’d ‘exceeded expectations’. Aziraphale wondered if he ought to worry about that, and resolved to not put  _ quite _ enough effort into making sure he did Crowley’s job while he was asleep. The last thing either of them needed was for Hell to look into why he was suddenly better at his job, and for it to come out he’d been sleeping on the job and letting an angel pick up his slack. The rest of the messages were instructions, new temptations he was expected to do, and that Aziraphale would now be doing in his place.

Aziraphale hadn’t  _ meant _ for that to happen, honestly. He’d come by to check on Crowley after noticing that his ‘good long nap’ seemed intent on taking a few years, and found the notes containing his instructions, and he didn’t want Crowley getting into trouble so he’d just… done the temptations himself. It was all just part of the Arrangement, he told himself, helping out a little bit. It had nothing to do with his affection, or not wanting to see Crowley come into hell’s black books and potentially be recalled, or worse, punished.

Besides, this way he knew what hell was up to. That gave him the advantage.

If he said it enough, he’d start to believe it, he was sure.

Mostly he just wanted Crowley to wake up.

He finished the missives and set them all back where he’d got them, then turned his attention to Crowley. His body wasn’t going to take any damage from his long nap, of course, but it never hurt to make sure it was being maintained without his conscious effort. (And again— if he told himself these were his motives enough, he might believe them.)

The petting that accompanied this inspection was a bit harder to explain but, well. It wasn’t like Crowley was awake, and he always leaned into the soft fingers carding through his hair, so Aziraphale could only assume he didn’t mind.

It had gotten a bit longer, Aziraphale noted, curling at the ends. Aziraphale carefully combed out any tangles that had formed in his sleep, murmuring softly to the demon in his arms as he did. It was an indulgence, and he was sure Crowley would never allow such softness if he were awake. As long as he told himself that he was just taking care of his demon while he slept, he didn’t feel guiltily like he was crossing some line or boundary.

And Crowley  _ did _ tend to lean into his touch. Sought him out as soon as he sat at the edge of the bed.

The last of the tangles came free. Aziraphale reluctantly pulled his hand away. Without the excuse of grooming his friend, he could no longer justify his soft touches. He sighed.

“All the same,” he said, peeling Crowley off of him, “I’d much rather just have you awake.”

Crowley snuffled softly at him in his sleep, and tried to snuggle closer again. Aziraphale stood.

“None of that, now.” He picked up the stack of orders and took a few steps back. “I’ll come back, dearest. Rest well.”

One last glance to take in the sleeping demon- who seemed to be almost pouting in his sleep now that his heat source had moved- and Aziraphale slipped out. He had work to do, now that he was doing two jobs long-term.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chance to write this headcanon was one of the reasons I committed myself to this fic.


	10. Soho, 1927

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale meets the other love of Crowley's life.

“Come see what I got,” Crowley had said, sauntering into the bookshop like he hadn’t just vanished off of Aziraphale’s radar for half a century, and, “Isn’t it beautiful?” when he dragged Aziraphale out to see the motorcar parked in front of the shop, and, “Want to go for a ride?” when Aziraphale expressed what he hoped was an appropriate amount of admiration for the machine Crowley was so enamoured with.

The motorcar pulled to a stop outside of the bookshop, for a given value of “pulled” and “stop”. Aziraphale clung to the dash, heart pounding so wildly in his chest that he feared he might discorporate from sheer stress. He banished it rather than deal with it any longer; he could only deal with one thing at a time here.

Beside him, Crowley was grinning so hard Aziraphale was sure he had unhinged his jaw just to grin wider.

“What do you think, angel?” he crooned. “Most beautiful car on the market, you know. I know, I checked. Looked around at all of them and then I saw  _ this _ car and I know it was the one for me. You beauty, you wonderful thing,” he added, stroking a hand along the car’s dashboard.

“Would you two like a moment?” Aziraphale said, a little more scathing than he’d quite admit but, well, in his defense he  _ had _ just nearly been discorporated by Crowley’s driving. “I was going to invite you in for a glass of wine, but if you’d rather stay out here whispering sweet nothings to your new love—“

“Jealous, angel?” He gave Aziraphale a knowing grin, then got out of the car and traipsed up to the shop, obviously expecting Aziraphale to follow and let him in without pause.

“Right,” Aziraphale said. “Now that  _ he’s _ gone.” He breathed out slowly and resummoned his heart, running one plump hand along the car’s interior. “Let’s just get some things straight between us, all right?”

“Coming, angel?” Crowley called impatiently, and Aziraphale called back, “In a moment!” and turned his attention back to the car.

“Crowley adores you, you know,” he said. “And as long as he loves you, he will take care of you. Perhaps he won’t always be  _ good _ at it, but he will always look to your well-being.”

He sighed. He hadn’t exactly always been the best at taking care of Crowley, either, something the past fifty or so years of radio silence had indicated in flashing letters. Still.

_ “Your _ job, therefore, is to always take care of  _ him, _ too.” He rested a hand on the dash, letting his blessing into the car itself. “As long as he loves you, he’ll be safe inside you.”

There was a momentary pressure while the Bentley absorbed the blessing: no motion, but he fancied he felt it shudder around him.

The door opened, and Crowley poked his head in, taking in Aziraphale’s closed eyes and his hand on the Bentley’s dash. “You know, if you wanted some alone time with the car, you could have just said.”

“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale said, taking the hand Crowley offered to help him out of the car. “Your new best friend and I were merely coming to an understanding, that’s all.”

“Establishing dominance?” Crowley teased, as the two made their way up to the bookshop together this time.

“Something like that.”

“I understand. Always important to mark your territory, after all.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, watching Crowley traipse through to the backroom and fling himself onto the sofa Aziraphale kept for him. He indulged in just a moment of admiration before summoning a bottle from his stores and a pair of wine glasses and following, sitting primly in his own chair before adding, “The Bentley and I have our own understanding, now. That’s what matters.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to the end now! Now if only I can figure out how the finale is gonna go...


	11. Heaven, 1967

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale will go to great lengths to make sure Crowley doesn't need his protection- even if that means trusting him with something that could destroy him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... this is it... the Finale... I don't want to be done with this, though I've obviously picked up an additional three wips to replace it so, you know.

Aziraphale did not like visiting heaven. It was too big, and empty, and sterile: there was no casual touching like there was on London, no clutter like in his shop, no warmth of being surrounded by other people enjoying their time as there was in a thousand tiny little restaurants that Aziraphale loved so much.

Aziraphale disliked visiting heaven so much that he tended to avoid it as much as possible, which seemed to suit his superiors, who never complained about his lack of visits. He hoped he didn’t run into any of them tonight. He wasn’t sure how to explain what he was doing here.

He could, he supposed, just make his own Holy Water. It would be a lot easier, and require no explanation- after all, an angel on earth needing Holy Water was not something that was to be questioned. It was just one of those things.

But Crowley had claimed to want the Holy Water for defense, just in case everything went pear-shaped (what a terrible metaphor; pears were an absolutely  _ lovely _ shape), and if he were to use it to defend against hell, then he would need the strongest stuff Aziraphale could provide him.

Besides, Crowley loved him. Of that he was sure, had been since the demon had walked into a church to protect him and then saved his precious books from destruction. And that love deserved anything Aziraphale could give him, as long as it wasn’t- well, he deserved the things Aziraphale  _ could _ give him.

Including, it seemed, Holy Water.

Anyway, he was planning to rob a church, and Aziraphale wasn’t going to allow him to set foot in another of those for as long as they both existed. It had taken him forever to heal from the last one.

So he went up to heaven, and filled his tartan flask with Holy Water straight from the source, untainted by earth’s wickedness, and vanished only to reappear in the Bentley just as Crowley was entering it himself.

-/-

Crowley watched Aziraphale’s retreating form, his parting words echoing in his head.  _ You go too fast for me, Crowley. _ What the heaven did that even  _ mean? _ Crowley had been nothing but patient for four hundred years, waiting for Aziraphale to catch up with him! He’d been practically standing still! And he  _ went too fast?! _

Crowley groaned and let his head fall back on the seat. When he brought his head back to rights, his eyes landed on the flask currently tucked between his knees.  _ Don’t go unscrewing the cap. _ Crowley was tempted to anyway, just to check- what if Aziraphale were trying to pull one over on him?

But Aziraphale wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t very good at deception, and Crowley couldn’t see him tricking him. Not to mention Crowley could pretty much feel the holiness radiating from the flask even sealed.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes.  _ You go too fast for me. _ He wasn’t  _ trying _ to. He was trying really, really, really hard  _ not _ to. But he  _ wanted, _ and he yearned, and he  _ longed, _ and sometimes that bled out, and Aziraphale-

-well, Aziraphale couldn’t  _ not know, _ in fact given how many times he’d abruptly cut off contact when Crowley’s feelings hit a particular spike, he must know. He had to know. But how did he feel in return? Sometimes Crowley thought he must feel the same, others he thought that Aziraphale was just trying to spare his feelings by saying nothing.

For one uncharitable moment, Crowley thought very bitterly that Aziraphale was a coward. Too afraid of heaven’s wrath to risk open association with a demon. The thought tasted sour on his tongue, but he indulged it anyway. He was a demon: indulging negative emotions was what he was  _ supposed _ to do. Better to feel bitterness, to hurl the blame at Aziraphale, than this longing ache that had settled into his chest somewhere along the way and refused to let him free.

But he could not stay bitter for long- just as quickly as the anger had bubbled up it dissipated. Aziraphale always spoke of Crowley’s safety first and foremost in his hesitance. For all that both of them knew the degree of horror heaven was capable of, his own safety was merely a matter of convenience rather than a chief concern. After all, wasn’t he always making sure Crowley was protected, even while he himself tripped happily into danger?

And now he had placed danger right into Crowley’s hands, and trusted him not to harm himself in the process.

Trusted him to protect himself from danger that both knew they could not stave off forever.

Trusted him, then, to keep himself safe.

Crowley stared down at the flask with new eyes. He’d swear that violins were going off in his head: was this, then, the proof that he had longed for?

“Oh, angel,” he murmured, clutching the flask to his chest. Tartan! Of  _ course _ it was tartan, his angel would give him nothing less. A weak smile bubbled up. “I’ll wait as long as you need to catch up, I promise. Just get here eventually. You promised me a picnic.”

-/-

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_ Bonus scene: St. James’ Park, 2o19 _

.

The picnic had been wonderful, and now Crowley sprawled out across the blanket dozing in the sun while Aziraphale read and picked idly at the remains of the food. He was thinking of perhaps coaxing Crowley nearer so that he might play with his hair, or maybe hold his hand for a bit. He’d quite like to have his hand held, and Crowley enjoyed having his hair played with, so either would be agreeable to both of them, whichever he decided.

He, too, could always scoot a little closer to Crowley, so as not to disturb his nap in making him move, though if he did wake Crowley enough to move Crowley might put his head in his lap, and wouldn’t that be nice?

While he was considering his options, a wasp came over and landed on Crowley’s arm, crawling along with no clear reason to its presence. Crowley twitched his arm a little, but apparently not enough to dislodge the wasp. Aziraphale frowned.

A moment later, every wasp in a fifty-foot radius felt a sudden urge to be elsewhere. Beside him, Crowley shifted enough to give Aziraphale an amused look.

“Touch of overkill there, angel?”

“I might have gotten a bit carried away,” he admitted. “But no harm done.”

“Only to the poor wasps.” 

Now awake, Crowley’s thoughts seemed to go in the same direction as Aziraphale’s, and he slithered near enough to rest his head on one soft thigh, reaching for Aziraphale’s free hand and moving it rather pointedly to his hair.

“What’s that you’re reading, then?”

“Only A Factory Girl,” he said, showing the cover, and, “Would you like me to read to you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Crowley said, and closed his eyes to resume his nap while Aziraphale started reading back at the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who loved this fic along the way: thank you so much <3 Your support of my silly idea and my frankly spiteful headcanon has filled me with joy for every update. I love you all, thank you and goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Also if you’re worried about my other works, don’t! The first two chapters have actually been written for almost a week now because like a fool I thought I could actually finish something before posting it, pfft. Wedding fic should be updating in the next couple days; work is still kicking my ass and I’m handicapped by my keyboard being borked (I’m missing my Z and C keys in the middle of a Good Omens fandom time, tch) but I’m plodding along when I can and when I’m not too exhausted.
> 
> Tl;dr I _am_ still working on the other wips it’s just slow going also hit me up on tumblr @grifalinas


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